My what a splendid festival. You’ve read what I had to say about the thing (overview, day one, day two & day three), now here’s the ‘downloadable in one easy to digest chunk’ version, with more tunes.

I had a splendid time at this, I really did. The line-up was spectacularly good and, despite being not much more than a well-executed variant on the standard festival format, I would highly recommend it to those of you sick of the exercise in cattle-herding and aggressively intrusive marketing that the modern festival has become.

Anyhow, I’ve gone through the festival in chronological order, playing songs from artists in the order in which I attended them over the weekend. Hopefully I give you a decent overview of the festival itself as well as a taster of the quality of the lineup, from the indie legends to the connoisseur’s selection of emerging acts that made this such a quality bill. No ranting in this one either, or at least, very little. What a relief for you all.

Toadcast #12 – The End of the Roadcast

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1. Midlake – Young Bride (02.08)
2. Yo La Tengo – By the Time it Gets Dark (07.43)
3. My Brightest Diamond – Dragonfly (14.17)
4. King Creosote – You’ve No Clue Do You (23.19)
5. Monkey Swallows the Universe – Sheffield Shanty (28.29)
6. David Thomas Broughton – Unmarked Grave (34.56)
7. British Sea Power – Remember Me (46.11)
8. Port O’Brien – Five & Dime (51.39)
9. The Young Republic – Excuses to See You (56.14)
10. The Wave Pictures – Long Island (63.28)
11. Johnny Flynn & the Sussex Wit – Tickle Me Pink (70.44)
12. Paris Motel – My Demeter (77.20)
13. Charlie Parr – Worried Blues (80.53)
14. Howe Gelb – Get to Leave (88.34)
15. Lambchop – Up With People (95.35)

On Sunday I awoke feeling rather less groggy than the previous day, presumably owing to the lack of that marvelous late-night tequila/pink champagne combo. To further cement their legendary status, my splendid tent neighbours provided both bacon sarnies and tea when I dragged my freezing arse out of my tent in the morning. I could have married them, and their friend Ian and their silly lavender coloured VW camper all at once for that act of charity. Lovely, lovely people.

I scarpered up to the main stage to start the day on the Sunday. On the back of the festival, Simon has formed End of the Road Records to champion some of the splendid groups he came across in setting the thing up, and on Sunday there was something of a showcase of the people he signed.

Port O’Brien: Confident and entertaining, these lads play a kind of dusty West Coast Americana that can be sad and can be a full-on rock out. They went down so well they could barely dig up enough CDs after the gig to satisfy all the eager punters, which was brilliant to see.
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Port O’Brien – Five & Dime
The Young Republic: This was a cracking set. I actually enjoyed it far more than their performance the day before because they pretty much played all my favourite songs. They clatter along when they get going, these fellas, with a brand of rock ‘n’ roll country music meets film score that takes them through the genres at a frightening pace. They adjusted seamlessly to playing the big stage, and if you can catch them supporting My Brightest Diamond on her current UK tour then I highly recommend it. I had the opportunity to interview them afterwards as well, which was excellent fun – had The Wave Pictures not been on at four then it could have gone on for hours.
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The Young Republic – She’s Not Waiting Here This Time

The Wave Pictures: Brilliant – these guys are so relaxed and affable on stage they come across as a slapdash pub band who accidentally happened to be extraordinarily gifted. It’s about the most unpolished sound in indie at the moment, but they had a hardcore group of fans who knew ever single song, which they played on request basis. Just signed to a small label and with a new album release hopefully on the horizon, these lads truly are excellent. Difficult in some ways – Dave doesn’t exactly boast popular music’s most mellifluous voice – but excellent nevertheless.
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The Wave Pictures – When I Leave You For Somebody Else

Johnny Flynn & the Sussex Wit: Another superb performance. This is the new sound of English folk at its finest. Wistful and contemplative one minute, then foot-stampingly infectious the next. I knew a few of Mr. Flynn’s songs beforehand, but he played plenty more that I loved during the set which bodes very, very well for future album possibilities. Quite excellent.
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Johnny Flynn & the Sussex Wit – Leftovers

Paris Motel: Everyone has an image in their heads of the band on the Titanic playing as the ship tragically sank (although when it took that prick Leonardo Di Crappio with it, it somehow seemed rather less tragic I thought). Well, this lot are a bit like the band on the Marie Celeste. Spooky, slightly magical tales that can come across as macabre old fairytales, mix with sea shanties and old-fashioned laments to create a truly amazing atmosphere. Their formal dress makes it even more so, with the gorgeous Amy May in her plain black evening dress leading proceedings, although any pomposity is instantly diffused by her self-deprecating and humorous manner. I loved this set, truly exceptional, and their album is out on Loose on the 1st of October I believe. Buy it, honestly do.
website | hype | amazon

Paris Motel – City of Ladies

Charlie Parr: A classic, bearded old bluesman, with rich deep voice, beard and scruffy demeanour. He plucked at his guitar, invited us all to visit him in Duluth, Minnesota and played half a dozen songs written whilst thinking about his dad. I know absolutely nil about this gentleman I’m afraid, so you’re on your own exploring his stuff. Let me know how you get on.
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Charlie Parr – Worried Blues

Howe Gelb: One of my musical heroes and one I came within a whisker of being able to interview for Song, by Toad. Rats, bollocks. Anyhow, his set was just like his music: meandering, explorative and prone to following whatever train of thought kidnapped it at the time. Gelb is a serial collaborator with his records, and the show was much like that as well. He called all sorts of other musicians on to help him perform, bringing an ad hoc, friendly tone to the show. None of this veneer of ‘performance’, just a load of people sharing music together. Superb.
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Howe Gelb – Felonious

Lambchop: Not a natural headline act, one might think, with their hushed, delicate country music perhaps far too quiet for this kind of slot – traditionally a rowdy celebration of three days of hedonistic excess. Or so you’d think. Actually they played their set with much more vim than you’d generally hear on record, and they ended with the glorious crowd-pleaser, with absolutely everyone coming on stage to provide the fantastic choral climax. Brilliant.
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Lambchop – Let’s Go Bowling

Well Saturday started with a fair bit of confusion. I was supposed to be interviewing Howe Gelb at 11am but that fell through (in a tremendously tedious and long-winded game of telephone tag) and has now been downgraded to an email interview and the promise that I can have another go the next time Howe is in the UK which, given there is a new Giant Sand album relatively close to release, should hopefully not be all that long.

So that one didn’t happen but I did end up, at about one-ish, having a lovely chat with Shara Worden from My Brightest Diamond which I shall be writing up over the weekend some time, I hope. I am not sure what these rock star types make of my interview technique, to be honest. Instead of trying to come up with questions I tend to just try and talk to them about music for a bit and see what sort of stuff makes them tick and what kind of people they are and find out how they approach their music. It probably comes across as a bit unstructured, which it is, but lists of questions don’t really interest me at all, so until I get blacklisted this is what they’ll get.

Anyhow, after talking to Shara (please note: first name terms there – ooh yeah!) I pottered about a bit, caught the tail end of Slow Club at the Bimble Inn, and found some salad and a smoothie to help ameliorate my hangover. My tent neighbours led me astray with – not a word of a lie – tequila and pink champagne on Friday night so I was still a little tender by the time the gigs started on Saturday.

Alessi: She is painfully, painfully shy and with a really rather odd voice. She hated the mic and the amp, casting it off and playing unplugged for a song, and throughout the show looked a little like one mean spirited heckle could have reduced her to tears on the spot. That said, I actually thought she was ace: engaging, charming and a talented songwriter. I can’t exactly foresee fame and fortune, but if she’s playing I’d say she is certainly worth going along to see. Gentle, personal acoustic songwriting, and a genuinely lovely lass to boot.
MySpace

Alessi – My Bedroom

My Brightest Diamond: Christ on a bicycle this woman rocks. A wee slip of a lass, knee high to a dragonfly, metes out some serious guitar punishment in-between bouts of alternate vocal gymnastics and vocal loveliness. It’s quite dazzling to see, and she really plays and sings with quite genuine ferocity. If you are even a casual fan, honestly go and see her live if you get the chance. She’s touring the UK with the Young Republic at the moment and I can’t suggest a better way to spend your money.
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My Brightest Diamond – Magic Rabbit

The Young Republic: This was my first chance to see these guys live, and I’ve been excited about them for ages and indeed *clears superior indie-snob throat* writing about them since before they were signed, so I feel I have paid my dues in terms of patient waiting. They had three different shows pencilled in for EotR so they started the set with Tonight I’ll be Staying Here With You by Dylan, which came from a set of Dylan songs they were working on for the following day. It was the Rolling Thunder Revue version as well, not the Nashville Skyline one, which I actually found shed some light on them as a band because they did seem just like the Rolling Thunder Revue at that point. Still, an excellent set, and they came across as very confident and entirely comfortable on stage, which impressed me for a band on their first international tour.
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The Young Republic – That Won’t Change the Sight (Of Your Heart Rolling By)

King Creosote: On the back of his new album of splendid indie pop album Bombshell, the King is touring with a genuine spring in his step. Uncle Beesly on Bass was arsing about with a sheep mask (I have no idea, don’t ask), The Pictish Trail was forever interjecting with smart-arsed banter and Kenny himself was bouncing around like a man having the time of his life. They just look like they’re having so much fun at the moment, it’s brilliant. So boo sucks to Tim and his mates for not liking the new amped-up sound – I think it’s a fucking blast.
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King Creosote – Twin Tub Twin It may sound hushed, but this was an absolute riot live.

Monkey Swallows the Universe: Apart from being mildly threatened by a not very intimidating looking fellow as I tried to squeeze into a packed gig, this was just gorgeous. These guys may be largely unheard of but they had a big, big crowd and when they played Jimmy Down the Well there was a polite acoustic folk uproar. Everyone knew the words, everyone knew the songs. These guys play a rather lovely kind of music – personal storytelling and charming delivery. And in the most pastoral, lovely way imaginable, they kind of seem to rock. Amazing!
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Monkey Swallows the Universe – The Chicken Fat Waltz

Danielson: In their matching uniforms they looked a bit weird and, although I like some of the tracks’ I wasn’t that taken. The performance was good though, so if you’re even slightly a fan, get stuck in and see them live. I keep expecting to like this lot more though.
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Danielson – Ship the Majestic Suffix

David Thomas Broughton: A genuine revelation. One of the few people I saw this weekend that I knew absolutely not one tiny thing about, and he was bloody incredible. He is classic Fence Collective actually, sort of a cross between Art Pedro and The Magic Arm, and spends time setting up his loops and samples at the start of each track before letting it all loose and following the rabbit down the hole. His music is a kind of low-fi folky electronica, quite atmospheric and rather abstract as well. It’s rarely clear where the songs start and finish, and we ended up just clapping in the quiet bits because there had to be some way to show this chap some appreciation – he was completely and utterly mesmerising. I have ordered albums and there will be reviews approaching.
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David Thomas Broughton – Ambiguity

British Sea Power: They were bloody late but they were worth it. I heard a lot of criticism, mostly valid, of this set including accusations of self indulgence and and needless fannying around. Both are undoubtedly accurate. They ended with a completely insane twenty-minute wig-out that left my ears ringing until the following morning. But what they did do, which very few groups do these days, was blow my socks off with a blazing onslaught of indie fucking rock. They played well, and with passion and with rage and bile and spite. And they fucking blew us all to shit. And that was all I could take for the evening – just brilliant.
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British Sea Power – Carrion

Due to automobile, exhaustion, tent and stupidity issues I arrived at Larmer Tree Gardens extremely late on the Friday which meant I missed the Willard Grant Conspiracy, who had an oddly early slot, and Stephanie Dosen. This is particularly irritating as the Willards are one of my favourite groups, but never mind. There’s a new album approaching so they’ll presumably be touring soon enough.

The Willard Grant Conspiracy – Dance With Me (Live)

Fortunately, after wrestling with the tent, I was in time to stroll up to the main gardens and have a leisurely pint – hardly an queue, people, at a festival! Oh the gods are kind – before wandering up to the main Garden Stage.

Midlake: I have read that some people found their set tailed off a bit towards the end, but I didn’t see it that way. They are another of those ‘perfect reproduction’ live bands who reel off their songs in a manner largely indistinguishable from the album. Sometimes this annoys me a little, but not at a festival where there will be so many other live performance styles on show, so I just enjoyed the fact that their songs really are very, very good. I haven’t listened to Van Occupanther much for a while now and this really reminded me what a good album it is. Their brand of slightly hippy 70s Americana is really rather gorgeous, perfect for a first show of the weekend.

Midlake – Young Bride

Yo La Tengo: They were the headline act for Friday night and the only other group I saw that evening. Truly, they are fucking legends. They’ve been playing, and playing together, for so long they can pretty much do anything they want at the moment. Ira is a demented genius with the guitar when he gets going, and their changes of pace and sound from one song to another are amazing. When I got back to my tent my neighbours were discussing this band they’d never seen before that didn’t know if it was death metal, a jazz combo or electronica. Hmm, I thought, there’s only one group that can be! Honestly though, this was an amazing, blistering performance. I’ve seen them play a couple of times before and it was the same then. Basically, Yo La Tengo are one of the best bands on the planet at the moment, full stop. Truly fantastic.

Yo La Tengo – Double Dare
Yo La Tengo – Our Way to Fall

And that was it for the day. I tried to pop over to the Bimble Inn to see Eugene McGuinness because I’ve heard some great things about him, but I found Tim from The Daily Growl instead. The crowd was too big, and given we couldn’t get near him or hear him play decided to give up and chat over a bevvy. Maybe another time for Eugene.

Eugene McGuinness – Myrtle Parade

I can’t stand Hard-Fi or Babyshambles.  Hard-Fi’s one-dimensional brand of chirpy cockney toss-rock grates on me something rotten and their last album was more or less entirely bereft of decent tunes.  In the case of Babyshambles, the Pete Doherty Self-Destruction Roadshow has become so mind-numbingly tedious I can’t participate in conversations that even mention his name anymore without needing to walk away and calm down before I punch the person who brought it up in the first place.  And Pete himself is just another artist on a crash course to complete oblivion who has only ever really produced one decent record, and even that was with the considerable help of Carl Barat – a fact put starkly in perspective by the excellence of the Dirty Pretty Things album.

Actually, what I hate most about Babyshambles is not Doherty himself, but his gaggle of fawning acolytes proclaiming him a troubled genius, rather than the mildly skilled fuckwit that he clearly is.  The second coming – of what, for fuck’s sake?  Jordan?  And Hard-Fi are just so desperately mediocre that any acclaim they receive above a barely raised eyebrow and an indifferent shrug of the shoulders is something I find utterly baffling.

And yet and yet and yet…

A couple of recent tracks by both aren’t entirely awful.  Ed actually liked the Hard-Fi album and he’s a pretty reliable judge of these things.  And apparently the new Babyshambles isn’t actually all that bad.  I can’t see myself reversing my position exactly, but its conceivable I might soften it slightly.  In the case of Hard-Fi I’m just amazed they’ve written a song that isn’t completely rubbish, but Babyshambles may have finally produced an album worth listening to.  Maybe.

Babyshambles – Delivery
Hard-Fi – Watch Me Fall Apart

Buy Babyshambles here and Hard-Fi here if you’re feeling so inclined.

…or Poshfest, as I like to call it.  Honestly, it was the most middle-class, civillised event I can possibly imagine.  Even the toilets remained usable all the way through the weekend.

That may sound like I am mocking it, and in a way I am, but myself along with it because you see, I loved this festival.  It was absolutely, absolutely inch perfect for me and from the looks of it a good few others too.  I don’t know if it’s a sign of age, but I truly don’t think I have ever liked the grotty side of festivals – the shit-splattered toilets, swimming in a sea of someone else’s piss; the denuded field covered in used cans and broken plastic glasses, the seas of polystyrene shit and leftover food strewn about the place, the ninety minute queue at the bar for warm beer that is invariably the flavourless and piss-weak rubbish that is Tennents and a whole myriad of other whining-old-bastard-in-his-slippers complaints.

End of the Road, on the other hand was superb, primarily I think because it was pretty small.  The fields generally retained their grass, people were spread pretty nice and thinly throughout the gardens, the toilets were kept clean and even had bog roll in them pretty much all the time, the food was good, the bar queues were genuinely pretty minimal and the beer was really quite nice.  A pint of Leffe for £3 is pretty comparable to a high street bar, unlike the usual almighty fleecing you tend to get at these things, and the fact that Leffe was available at all is in itself a good sign.

You know the only complaint I have about End of the Road: the lineup was actually just too good.  It was a brilliant combination of the up-and-coming, the alternative staple and the indie legend.  I had to miss about half a dozen things I really wanted to see just because there was so much good stuff on, and that’s even with Dan Sartain and Micah P. Hinson dropping out.  I didn’t get to sample the excellent film and comedy selections for example, which I would have loved to do, but I am delighted they are there as it means I am almost certain to be able to persuade the musically indifferent Mrs. Toad to come along with me next year.

The other problem with the strength of the lineup was that, apart from missing several things I wanted to see – Malcolm Middleton, Herman Dune, James Yorkston, Jens Lekman, Josh T. Pearson, Giant Sand, just the list of people I missed would make an impressive festival lineup by itself – but also it never gave me time to just wander in on something random and discover new things.  It’s nice at festivals to idly meander from one small venue to the next and take a chance on things you’ve never heard, and I couldn’t do that this time because there was just so much stuff on that I really wanted to see.

So Simon, my only complaint about your festival is that it was just a bit too bloody good!  Oh, and a few more showers would have been handy.  But all in all, I could have gone to the exact same festival the following weekend and still not been bored – superb it was!

So here are some tracks from the groups I missed.  I’ll be writing up the bands from the individual days pretty soon, but for now, here’s what I could have won…

Malcolm Middleton – Fuck It, I Love You
Herman Dune – 123 Apple Tree
James Yorkston & the Athletes – A Man With My Skills
Jens Lekman – No Time For Breaking Up
Lift to Experience – These Are the Days
Giant Sand – Cracklin’ Water

I’ve been fans of this lot for quite a while, and this is their debut album, a record I’ve been looking forward to for ages. Unfortunately, as something of a ‘greatest hits’ compiled from all their previous self-released material there’s nothing on here I haven’t heard before, which is a shame for those of us who have kept a very close eye on their progress up to this point. For all the rest of you however, this is twelve tracks of splendid indie gorgeousness from the first signings to the new label End of the Road Records.

Comparisons are often made to Belle & Sebastian, but with the exception of a couple of tracks, I don’t really buy this. For the most part they are too country for this comparison to hold, although tracks like the superb Girl From the Northern States could easily have issued from the pen of Stuart Murdoch. I saw them play a couple of tracks from Bob Dylan’s Rolling Thunder Revue at the End of the Road Festival, and that kind of heavily instrumental clatter-along rock ‘n’ roll fits their sound very neatly. The band have obsessions with The Beatles, classic rock and classical, which might give you an idea what to expect.

This album is surprisingly coherent actually, for one that veers all over the place stylistically. There’s some pastoral indie-pop, full-on rock ‘n’ roll, a little bit of rag time and some pure country in amongst the various styles in this record. All eight of the band studied music, and this interest in any and all styles shows through in the music they themselves produce, which is unrestrained by any one category. Nonetheless it all holds very well together. They have put a lot of work into their orchestration, making sure that all eight instruments aren’t fighting one another for attention, with the lovely She’s Not Waiting Here This Time testament to this hard work. It starts out all sparse and lovely, with no more than a little dash of piano and guitar underpinned with a little brush work on the drums. Half way through however, a drum roll heralds the arrival of a choir of angels and swelling cinematic orchestration. It’s superb, and this kind of surprising and unselfconscious genre-hopping is what is best about this album.

I’ve a really interesting interview with Chris & Julian from the Young Republic which I’ll be writing up in the next few days, so keep an eye out for that. In the meantime, have a go at this or buy one of their singles from Rough Trade.

The Young Republic – She’s Not Waiting Here This Time
The Young Republic – Goodbye Town

website | hype | buy from rough trade

This is a bit of a mutual back-scratching exercise, so I thought I’d better confess my motives up front, but I think you all know me well enough to know I’d never plug something I didn’t genuinely like. The Waiting Room is a two-hour weekly podcast by a couple of muppets who actually give the shambolic disorganisation of the Toadcasts a run for their money in terms of sheer haphazard bumbling. [Edit: Sorry, they are a radio show that is also a podcast.  Broadcasts from Error FM, Wednesdays from 10pm. I think it's 10pm - I just listen to the podcasts myself.] One half of Drunk Country and Ms. Hope Eternal chatter on about not very much in particular and present some truly excellent song choices.

In the three episodes I’ve heard they’ve played the likes of Noah & the Whale, Man Man, The Magnetic Fields, Alaska in Winter, King Creosote and The Czars who are Toad favourites and also led me to buy albums by Rats With Wings, Jesca Hoop and Amy LaVere. So well worth checking out. Also, they said I was ace in their last podcast and with my colossal vanity, flattery of that sort was bound to be rewarded.

Rats With Wings – Hungry Like the Wolf Yes, that Hungry Like the Wolf.
The Czars – Lullaby 6000 This songs ends with one of the most gorgeous building choruses ever.
Amy LaVere – Killing Him

Erm, this example of tactless verbal bumbling will not surprise my regular readers in the slightest. So here we go.

I was at the End of the Road Festival and just happened to bump into Reuben Taylor, who plays accordion and piano with James Yorkston & the Athletes. I’d chatted drunkenly with him at the last Fence Homegame so I said hello and we had a brief chat which included the following excruciating exchange:

Toad: You’re playing today aren’t you?
Reuben: Yes, over at the Bimble Inn, but we clash with Lambchop so I don’t know how well we’ll do.
T: Oh yes, I’m going [starts to realise this is not going to go well] to be, er, at Lambchop myself too…
R: *Doesn’t look impressed*
T: Well, erm, you guys ar, er, local and I’m going to get, ah, more chances to see you later so I thought, um… [tails off embarrassingly]
R: Well London’s not exactly local, Edinburgh’s 400 miles away.
T: Well, er, it’s more… [Tails off, forgetting to mention that Toad Hall is in fact in Edinburgh. Tries to pretend conversation hasn't happened.]
R: *Efficiently changes subject*

What absolute diplomatic genius, I think you’ll agree. I feel such a prat. What I meant to say would have sounded a bit more like this:

‘Seeing as I have seen James & the Athletes four times in the last couple of years and, given I live in Edinburgh am likely to see you just as often in the next couple of years, and given I have never seen Lambchop and may not get the chance again for ages, I think I am going to have to opt for Lambchop on this occasion. Hope the gig goes well though, and I will definitely be in your audience again very soon, clapping and cheering like nobody’s business’

Which I think we can all agree sounds an awful lot better. So, in a desperate attempt to make good my bungling I am going to introduce you to the splendid Mr. R. Taylor through what else but the medium of popular song.

Reuben Taylor – Fanfare From his De-Fence Records single, shared with Jon Hopkins, which can be bought on vinyl here and is very much worth a fistful of your sheckles.
James Yorkston & the Athletes – 6.30 is Just Way Too Early (Reuben’s String Arrangements) Off this single.
James Yorkston – Rosemary Lane I can’t swear it’s Reuben on accordion but it’s pretty likely. From the unspeakably beautiful EP, Someplace Simple which you have to buy – absolute genius.

Kenny’s gone pop! Lord a’mighty what is happening? Well from the surface what I would imagine is happening is this: after ten years of releasing necessarily low-fi and low budget DIY marvels, he must have had to shelve so many ideas because he had to be able to record everything he released in his own front room, which would have ruled out most of the songs on this album. Now however, a certain Mr. Anderson is brimming with confidence at the increasing success of all things both Fence and Creosote, and suddenly has the backing to do what he pleases. So whereas previously all his releases pretty much had to be as minimalist as possible, suddenly he has a whole range of new toys to play with and has had a bloody good go at what can be done with Big Shiny Production.

After all that, Bombshell actually opens gently with a classic, heartbreaking example of one of his trademark laments, showcasing what is truly one of the most affecting and saddest voices around. He seems to be either easing us in gently or pulling us onto a punch, whichever way you want to look at it. The first sign that things are going to be different comes a short way into second track, Home in a Sentence, which starts familiarly enough. Almost fifty second in however, there is a sudden appearance of what sounds suspiciously like a rock guitar – The Pictish Trail has come out to play! The song then builds quickly into a proper, unashamed power-pop track which for hard core Creosote fans will be a genuine culture shock. At this point people will presumably either jump ship entirely or stick around and see what on earth he’s up to.

Well there’s no messing about, the next track is one of the poppiest, catchiest and most overtly danceable songs KC has ever written. You’ve No Clue Do You has a bouncy, repetitive chorus, a splendid running Cluedo (That’s ‘Clue’, Americans) metaphor, with just enough of Kenny’s gently familiar sadness in the slight wavers into falsetto to give the song a lovely balance of emotional undercurrents. And on it goes. There’s even some proper rock riffs in WAL, really fucking good ones too, and there’s pop – indie pop everywhere!

Well I have heard quite a few King Creosote fans lament this departure into Shiny Production territory, as well as the bigger sound, but I really don’t buy this. It will never be my favourite KC album because ultimately I love sparse, sad music the most and I always have, but it is bloody, bloody good all the same. What makes Kenny Kenny for me is his voice and his lyrics and both are completely intact here. ‘One in a dozen, but you’ve seen the state of the other eleven’ and ‘You know when hands touch and there’s that spark of electrical something or other, well there’s none of that’ are classic Creosote, and the lilting, plaintive voice is still there as well. It’s just that now he has more toys to play with.

In the end, no-one who’s seen the Fence Collective boys go mental together – including, I swear, James Yorkston of all people, playing power-chords like a nutter and pogo-ing around the stage – will be surprised at the bigger, bolshier sound this record embraces at times. It may be a surprise to hear it on record, and as I said, I will always prefer the sadder stuff, but this is still an excellent album and there are some genuine KC classics on it: Leslie, No Clue Do You, None of That, Nooks, Cockleshell, the list goes on. And watching the Creosote band bouncing around and fannying about on stage at the End of the Road Festival, and listening to this exuberant record as well, it just looks like absolutely brilliant fucking fun to be a part of the Fence Collective, and in particular Kenny Anderson, at the moment. Given it’s taken over ten years of slog to get here, it’s about as well deserved a vindication as you get in the music industry.

King Creosote – Leslie
King Creosote – Nooks

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